Fate's Crossroads
by stranded chess piece
Summary: AU Pilot. Dean is travelling to Palo Alto to ask for Sam's help, but things don't go exactly to plan. Limp Sam fic.
1. Chapter 1

_I know, I have another fic to finish, but I get so side-tracked! This is also a work in progress, multi short-chapter fic, AU Pilot. Sam whumpage and limp Sam (but of course ;p)_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own them._

_Spoilers for parts of the pilot._

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**CHAPTER ONE**

Dean snapped his cell shut and tossed it onto the empty passenger seat. It bounced off and landed on the floor with a clunk. He didn't pick it up, just leaned forward with his arms folded against the wheel. His heart hammered against his ribs, his stomach turning in sickening cartwheels and knots.

A truck roared by, its tyres hissing on the wet road.

The Impala shuddered, and Dean shuddered with it. The late morning sun glared through the thinning clouds, throwing light against puddles and blinding him with its brilliance. He pressed fingers into his eyes and rubbed at the ache within them. His thoughts were whirling, tumbling over one another.

It had been three days since he'd heard from his father. John had gone out on a hunt and hadn't returned. Dean had tried calling him countless times but kept getting his voice mail. Something had happened. Dean could feel it. The butterflies in his stomach were churning up his insides and with each passing moment the dread within him grew. John wouldn't have left without telling him. Dean shook his head, trying to jerk some sense into his mind. John _wouldn't_ have just left.

Ten forty-five. Two more hours and he'd be in San Francisco. A little further and he'd be in Palo Alto.

Sam was in Palo Alto.

Sammy.

Dean swallowed roughly. It had been two years since he'd seen his younger brother. In that whole time they hadn't spoken once. Their father had had a lot to do with Sam leaving, and Dean hadn't dared bring it up with John since the day Sam had walked out the door. Sam may have walked away, and John may have disowned his youngest son, but Dean had never forgotten his brother. Not a day had gone by when Dean hadn't wondered how Sam was. God knew, not a day had gone by when Dean hadn't missed his best friend.

Dean shot a sideways glance at his phone. He'd dialled Sam's number many times, but had never managed to go through with the call. Such a huge part of him had wanted to speak to his brother on so many occasions, but always something had stopped him. Now he was on his way to Sam's apartment, and he still hadn't found the courage to talk to Sam. What if Sam didn't want to see him? The butterflies in his stomach grew more frantic.

He slammed his palm against the wheel. Life had driven him into a corner and for the first time ever he was completely alone; and mildly scared. His lip twitched. Scared? He never felt scared. Fear was such a foreign concept to him. Dean Winchester didn't get scared. He caught his eyes in the rear view mirror and noticed how red and tired they were. His reflection looked like it should belong to someone else. He hadn't slept properly since he'd realized John was missing. Quickly he tore his gaze away, clearing his throat and forcing himself calm.

He'd go to Palo Alto and find Sam. He'd ask for Sam's help. He'd be prepared for Sam to push him away, to refuse to see him. He'd be prepared to argue with his little brother for the sake of their family. For over twenty years he'd been fighting to keep their dysfunctional family unit together. His first failure had come when Sam had left for college, and his second had come more recently when John had disappeared. He wasn't ready to wave the white flag yet. He just hoped that if Sam couldn't bring himself to help for the sake of their father, he'd do it for Dean's sake instead.

Dean reached down and fished his cell phone off the floor. His fingers shook as he gripped it and flipped it open. What if Sam didn't pick up? What if he saw Dean's number and refused to answer? Or worse still, what if he'd deleted Dean's number entirely and had no idea who was calling? _What if_'s ran rampant around Dean's troubled mind for the better half of a minute. He chewed his lip. He jiggled the phone in his palm. He threw his gaze out the window and focused on the golden leaves coming off the trees beside his car.

Sam may have written him off. It was a painful truth Dean might have to face. For the past two years he'd refrained from contacting his brother even though it had felt like such a huge part of him was missing along with Sam. He'd given his brother space because he'd clung to the hope that Sam was better off without him, without their father, and without any reminders of the life that had been forced upon him, even though it had killed Dean to do so.

Leaves fell. Clouds rolled. Dean pulled in a deep breath and decided that it was time to make the call, whatever Sam's response might be. Another wave of anxiety barrelled through him. He batted it away. He found Sam's number. He moved his finger to press the button that would connect him to his brother.

His phone burst to life, throwing music through the Impala's otherwise silent cabin.

Dean's heart thundered in his chest. His stomach threatened to leap into his throat. He held the phone away from him and blinked at the screen with disbelieving eyes.

_Sam_.

For the first time in two years, and when Dean needed him the most, Sam was calling _him_. It was uncanny. An impossible coincidence. Dean almost laughed aloud.

He punched the button to take the call, unable to will his voice over his lips for a moment. "Sammy?"

There was silence from the other end.

Dean's heart skipped a few beats. He swallowed hard. He was about to say Sam's name again when a foreign voice met his ear.

"Dean?"

It was female. She sounded young, but not a child. There was a slight tremor to her tone that gave Dean the impression that she was upset or scared. His trained ears picked her apart before she even said anything else.

"Why do you have my brother's phone?" Dean wasn't going to be pleasant until he knew why some stranger was calling from Sam's cell.

She hesitated a moment longer, seeming to search for words. "I…," she started, but her voice trailed off. She managed to pick it up again. "I'm sorry," she corrected, seeming to draw strength from somewhere. "I'm Jessica. I'm Sam's girlfriend. Are you Dean?"

Dean's mind was still snagged on the fact that his baby brother had a girlfriend. And here he was worrying that Sam was all alone, struggling to fit into the 'normal' world.

She didn't wait for him to reply. "Dean, I need your help," her voice began to waver again. "Something's happened."

Dean's mind cleared in an instant. Her tone sent unwelcome chills into his gut.

"Sam's missing," she continued, her voice cracking into a barely controlled sob. "He never came home last night, and I just have this terrible feeling. I've tried to report it but he hasn't been gone long enough for anyone to take me seriously."

Dean was struggling to keep up with her words.

_No._

A thousand possibilities began to spin through his mind. His plan of action to find their father suddenly shattered. Sam was missing too? Dean didn't want to believe what this girl was saying, but her tone was too convincing to doubt.

The day became frighteningly dark.

Jessica must have continued speaking, but Dean didn't hear a word she said. His thoughts snapped back to attention when she stopped and said his name, troubled by his silence.

"Dean?" Her voice was shaking. "Dean, are you there? Please…"

"Yeah." Dean's voice was a rock, wedged somewhere below his ribs. He couldn't pull it out. He couldn't find his words. He wanted to ask whether she was sure Sam hadn't just wandered off somewhere, got lost on the way home; but he knew his brother too well and Sam would never make someone worry like this. Sam never got lost, and he never lost track of time.

"I don't know where you are," she said. "Sam said you move around quite a bit. I only have your number because he left his cell here by mistake. I…" She cleared her throat, but it didn't steady her voice much. "I don't really know what to do. I'm worried..."

Silence stretched between them. Dean didn't let it linger long. "I'm coming to you," he stated. Then, as if trying to quell his own fear, added, "I'm sure there's an explanation. I can be there in two hours but he might be back before then." But it was so unlike Sam to disappear without saying anything. And judging from Jessica's concern, she knew this as well. Dean tried to ignore the way his body shifted from hot to cold, and how clammy his palm was against the phone.

He didn't let her say anything else. "I'll be there as quickly as I can," he mumbled, and ended the call. Once again he snapped his phone shut and hurled it across the seat. It hit the passenger door and clattered to the floor as the Impala roared to life.

"_Damn _it!" He cursed, throwing the vehicle into gear and churning up mud and grass as he screamed out onto the road.

He'd barely been holding himself together since his father had disappeared. Now if Sam was missing too, his entire world would possibly come apart completely.

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**_tbc_**


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi again. Here's the next bit. To all of you who are reading and also everyone who left a comment on the last chapter- **thankyou**! (I wont say 'ta' anymore because recently I went to visit a friend up in the US and she told me that no one uses that word up there. Hehe oopsies...) Anyways, happy reading :0)_

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**CHAPTER TWO**

Sam blinked his eyes groggily, his head threatening to split. A wall of confusion hit him before giving way to a rush of cold fear as he realized that he didn't recognize his surroundings.

His unfocused gaze darted frantically about the dimly lit room.

Metal shelving with dusty tools. Boxes. Work bench. Dirty red brick walls. A small, boarded window. A single, hanging light bulb. Stairs leading upwards, cloaked in shadows.

He discovered he was seated, tied to a wooden chair. Ropes bound his ankles and wrists. Another rope wrapped around his chest. He couldn't move. There was blood on his tongue. It hurt to breathe. One of his ribs was either bruised or broken. How long had he been here?

Mounting panic threatened to tear him apart as he struggled to recall how he'd got here. His vision dimmed and his heart hammered.

He squeezed his eyes closed, forcing clarity into his mind. He needed to be calm. He needed to assess his situation and work out the best means of escape. He needed to work out whether the threat was supernatural, or human. He needed to work out how to fight it; what would kill it, and what would merely piss it off. In a flash, all the training his father had drummed into him returned and filled his mind. It was like a flood-gate was opened.

Sam wanted to shy away from it.

_You're getting sloppy, Sammy_.

It was his brother's voice, chiding him from the edge of a distant memory. Sam let his mind latch on to it, feeling comforted for a moment. Dean would rip into him for this. He'd let his guard down somehow. He'd screwed up, and now he was in trouble. His thoughts whirled. The last thing he remembered was leaving the library. He'd been walking across the parking lot, taking a shortcut home.

Someone or something must have jumped him.

Terror shot through him.

_Jess_.

For a heart-stopping moment, the icy hand of one of his nightmares reached out and gripped his throat, cutting off his air. Sudden desperation engulfed him and he rattled the chair he was sitting on. He needed to know that she was okay. He strained frantically against his bonds but they wouldn't give. He _needed_ to know that she was okay. If something had hurt her, by God he would-

His movement caused the chair to topple. He couldn't stop it in time, and he hit the concrete floor hard, the impact jarring his back.

He lay on his side, panting, the ropes cutting into his ribs. Nausea rushed through him. He gagged, but wasn't sick. The yellowish glow from the light bulb swam above him, and he squeezed his eyes closed against it.

He wanted to go home. He had to believe that Jess was okay. But she must be so worried. He said he'd be back from the library by dinner…

He pulled his eyes open. The room swam, like he was under water. He could feel his heart pounding against his temples. He didn't even know what time it was. He could have been unconscious for hours, or days…

There were footsteps.

Instantly Sam was alert. His heart rate increased and his hands tingled, desperate to be holding a weapon of some description.

A man appeared. At first he was a silhouette, but then he moved closer and Sam could make out his features.

He was human. Early fifties. Balding. Rough hands, like John's.

He approached and squatted beside Sam's head. He didn't say anything at first, just stared.

Sam did his best to keep his expression neutral.

_Don't show fear_. That's what his father had always said. Sam's stomach curled at the thought of his dad and the associated memories that came along with it. He pushed them away. He hadn't seen or heard from John in two whole years. _You walk out that door, you don't come back_. That's what John had said. And in that moment, Sam had ceased being a part of his father's life.

"You look like him," the man grunted.

Sam startled, brought back to the present by the stranger's gruff tone. He wanted to ask what the man was talking about, but his voice was jammed. It was hard enough to breathe, let alone speak. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

The stranger pulled out a cell phone, and waved it irritably in Sam's face. "You'd better pray that your daddy co-operates, boy. Or it'll be you who pays the price."

Sam's entire body went cold. It was like this freak of a man had heard his thoughts. For a moment, Sam wondered whether this was all a mistake; that the man had meant to capture somebody else's son. He was too shocked to construct coherent thoughts.

The man grabbed the chair and roughly sat Sam up the right way.

Sam wanted to kick and punch, but his bonds hadn't loosened. "I don't know what you're talking about." His voice finally came free. His words were rough and hostile. They grated against his throat.

The man regarded him silently. His features were lifeless, like a corpse. His eyes were hollow.

Sam blinked, wondering whether the man _was_ a corpse. It was entirely possible.

A fist as hard as a rock smashed against Sam's jaw, nearly sending the chair crashing back to the ground.

Sam took several seconds to recover. The punch had caught him off guard. He spat, feeling his lip swell painfully from where his front tooth had sunk into it. Blood dribbled down his chin and filled his mouth.

The man glared at him.

Sam wanted to glare back, but at some point he'd started shaking and he couldn't even focus on the man's ugly features. He wanted to ask what the hell the guy's problem was, but the possibility of another punch like that one held his tongue. His stomach rolled with anxiety and questions. What was that about his father co-operating?

Something hot threatened to burn through Sam's heart. He latched onto it. Focused.

Anger.

"I'm going to hurt you," the man said icily, stepping backwards into the shadows towards the staircase. "Because your father hurt _my_ son."

Sam gripped the arms of the chair, straining once more against the ropes that held him.

"Only John can end this," the man continued. He swallowed roughly and then raised his voice. "So you'd better pray like hell he cares enough about you to answer his God damned cell phone or at least collect to his voice mail."

Sam reeled from the bitterness lacing the stranger's words. What did he mean? What was that supposed to mean, he'd better pray John cared enough about him? Sam's voice tumbled over his lips before he could stop it. "I seriously don't know what the hell you're talking about. Whatever you think my father's done, I'm not a part of it. I haven't even seen my dad in-"

The man was across the room in a flash.

Sam stopped mid-sentence as steely fingers dug into his aching ribs. He cried out, cursing viciously.

The man's breath was rancid as he leaned close to Sam's face. His hollow eyes were alive with fire. His words were daggers. "I don't care what you know or don't know, boy. I'm only interested in settling things with your father. I believe that he was responsible for my son's disappearance, so I want him to know how it feels to lose something precious to him. Perhaps then he'll take me seriously." He withdrew his fingers.

Sam gasped and gagged. This man was crazy. He was crazy, and he was strong. He moved like a hunter. Bile rose in Sam's throat and he fought not to be sick.

The man backed away.

Sam watched him through burning, blurring eyes. His insides were on fire. There was a blackness that threatened to swallow him up. He wanted to fold in half and sob.

The man disappeared up the stairs.

Despair rang through Sam. He struggled to pull himself together, to bring his emotions under control. The man was wrong. John wouldn't come for him. John had disowned him two years ago. Sam was no longer John's son. The man had made a grave mistake taking Sam.

Sam's thoughts whirled. He felt like he was about to pass out. His ears were ringing and he could barely breathe. There was a painful lump in his throat, making it impossible to swallow. He wanted to be home. He wanted to be curled up in bed with Jess. He wanted to be anywhere but here, stuck in this cold room with blood against his teeth and the ghosts of his previous life come back to haunt him.

His aching thoughts turned to Dean. When he was younger, Dean would always be there to get him out of trouble. _Mother hen_. Sam had mocked him, but now he hung on to the memory for all it was worth. He missed his brother. He'd missed his brother countless times over the past two years. He'd wanted to call him, but always there had been something that had stopped him. Would Dean even pick up? Would Dean see Sam's number and refuse to answer?

Sam felt his strength crumbling around him. He had no right to wish for Dean's help. Dean had probably disowned him, just like John. Dean had practically raised Sam, and yet Sam had re-payed him by walking away.

John wasn't coming.

And neither was Dean.

For the first time in two years, Sam felt truly alone, and it was terrifying.

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**_tbc_**

_A/N: I know there was a bit of debate about whether it was 2 or 4 years between when Sam walked out and when Dean walked into his apartment. In the pilot Dean says 2, but in a later episode it's 4. For the sake of this fic I'm going to leave it at 2 :0)_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks so much for reading! Here's the next part :)_

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**CHAPTER THREE**

Dean pulled his keys from the ignition and stole a moment to get his bearings, catch his breath. His heart hadn't slowed its mad drumming, and the rate at which it was pumping blood around his body was making him dizzy. Silence replaced the Impala's roar and his ears rang. He blinked through the windshield at the building before him and felt increasingly sick.

This was Sam's apartment. This was Sam's _home_.

This wasn't how Dean had imagined coming here.

His door creaked as he pushed it open. It creaked as he slammed it closed. Rain shone upon the grass as the dull early afternoon sun caught it, and a collection of stray leaves blew along the sidewalk. Shoving hands into his coat pockets he hurried up the path towards the building, wondering how many times Sam had walked the same path; how many of his footprints would overlap those of his brother.

Up some stairs. Counting doors. Measuring breaths.

Sam's apartment wasn't hard to find.

He raised his fist, paused. He'd imagined this moment. He'd played it through his mind like a slideshow. He would knock and Sam would open the door. He'd had a thousand scenarios for what Sam's reaction might be. He'd painted their reunion in his mind; happy, sad, angry, emotional.

He hadn't expected it to be anything like this; without Sam.

He swallowed roughly and knocked. After a handful of seconds the door opened and he found himself staring at an unfamiliar, startlingly beautiful girl.

_Jessica._

Her eyes were red. "Dean?" It was obvious she'd been crying.

Dean blinked. Normally he would have been astounded by the fact that his little brother had found himself such a gorgeous girlfriend. He probably would have made a snide comment or a smartass remark, but today wasn't exactly the day he'd been hoping for and his voice wasn't working like it should. He nodded and tried to squeeze a small smile. It barely touched his lips.

Jessica's eyes glinted with tears. She brushed them away and ushered him inside, closing the door and straightening her shoulders. Silently she gathered whatever pieces of herself had been unravelling. "I'm so sorry to call you and ask you to come here, I just…" She shook her head and bit her lip, meeting his eyes. "I just didn't know who else to call."

Dean barely registered her apology. She reminded him of his and Sam's mother. Despite how tired she looked, her eyes were determined and her words were firm. She was scared, but not helpless. He held out a hand, making sure it was steady. "When we find Sam I'll let him introduce us properly."

Her features softened for a moment. She took his hand and shook it, nodding.

_When_. Not _if_. Dean had no intention of leaving Palo Alto without his brother. He needed to find out what he could from Jessica, assemble the facts and work from there. It was just like any other job.

Emptiness hit him like a freight train and he struggled to keep it from his expression.

Who was he kidding? This wasn't like any other job. Sam was missing. Their father was missing. His world had been thrown into chaos.

"Let's sit down." Jessica was moving them into a small living room.

Dean was grateful to sink onto a lumpy, single-seater couch. His stomach was doing cartwheels. He let his gaze wander about the room.

Simple furnishings. Small television. Couloured cushions; a touch of Jessica. Tattered books; a touch of Sam. In the space of five seconds Dean had measured and assessed the room. It was cosy. It felt warm and welcoming.

It felt like a home should feel.

Jessica perched on the edge of another couch. Her posture was anxious, but controlled. Her expression was a mixture of many emotions. She hugged herself as if she was cold. "So," she said, pulling in a deep breath. "Sam walked to the library yesterday afternoon. He was supposed to be home by seven, but he never came back. I couldn't call him because he'd left his cell here so I waited until nine, and then I began to get really worried. By midnight I was sure something had happened, but when I tried to report it no one would listen because he hadn't been gone long enough." She stopped. She hugged herself tighter and bit her lip, bit off her string of sentences. Her lip was shaking and her eyes flicked to the ceiling, as if she was willing herself not to cry.

Dean battled his own thundering emotions and rubbed his temples, processing what she'd just told him. He needed to concentrate.

"I couldn't sleep at all last night." Her voice had shrunk. "I drove down to the library and around the streets. I even called the hospitals to make sure he hadn't been taken anywhere, if something had happened. I just know that he wouldn't disappear like this." Her eyes flicked back to Dean. "It's not like him, he wouldn't take off. He wouldn't."

Dean didn't need convincing. He knew his brother, and it was obvious that Jessica knew Sam as well. "You're right," he agreed quietly. "He wouldn't do that. It's not like him."

But that left the question of what _had_ happened to Sam. Had he been taken, or was he lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding, unconscious…? Dean stopped his train of thought before it got out of hand. He had to be calm. He had to think clearly. On the way here, his brain had churned out countless possibilities, including the one where Sam's and John's disappearances were linked.

He regarded Jessica.

If something inhuman had taken his brother, then he couldn't let Jessica get involved. It would be too dangerous. Sam wouldn't want her to. Dean felt a sudden responsibility for this girl. It was obvious she cared for Sam, and Sam cared for her.

She was wiping at her eyes again.

"We're going to find him," Dean said, making his words as convincing as he could. "He's going to be alright."

She offered him a look that showed she wasn't convinced, but was grateful for his support. She stared at him a moment longer and then unfolded her arms, leaning over to a small coffee table and lifting something off the top of a thick book. She stared at it a moment and then passed it to Dean.

It was a photo. Dean held it between trembling fingers.

"He didn't talk much about his family," she explained after a moment. "But he often talked about you."

Dean felt a lump swell in his throat. The photo had been taken just before Sam had left for college. The two brothers were sitting on the hood of the Impala; Dean looking hardcore and Sam flashing his dimples. It sent sadness lancing through his chest as he was reminded, again, just how much he'd missed his brother these past couple of years.

"The way he talked about you," Jessica continued. "It was obvious you were a big part of his life." She squeezed a smile. "Of course, when I'd ask specific questions he'd shut down and end the conversation. He never went into details about his childhood."

Dean thought about the way they'd been raised and wasn't at all surprised that Sam hadn't told Jessica about his life growing up.

"But I could tell by the things he said and they way he said them, he cared about you so much. And he missed you." The brief smile fell away from her features and was replaced by worry once more.

Dean stared at the photo for another moment, blinking back the burning in his eyes.

"I found his cell when I tried to call it. I went through the numbers in it and called everyone who might've known where he went." She wrapped her arms around her stomach, as if she wasn't feeling well. "Your number was there, and I didn't know who else to call. No one could tell me anything. I don't even know what you can do, but I needed to tell you what had happened."

Dean pulled his eyes from the photo. He was glad she'd told him. He nodded. "I wasn't far away. I was visiting a friend." He wasn't ready to tell her about John being missing. He wasn't ready to tell her that he'd come here to take Sam away. Not yet. A lie seemed easier, for now.

"I don't know how to find him," she said shakily. "But I know we _have_ to find him, and help him if he's in trouble."

Once again, Dean was startled by her determination. He was startled, but he approved of it. A part of him was proud of his brother for finding such a girl. As cautious as he was of not getting Jessica involved in any supernatural mess, he knew that he could use her help. She knew the area. She might have information that would help them find Sam faster. He looked at the photo once again and stuffed it in his shirt pocket, deciding it was a risk he had to take.

"I promise you, we're going to find him." This time his words were steadier, more convincing.

She must have noticed, because for a moment the weight of worry lifted slightly from her features. She nodded jerkily, straightening her shoulders out of their slump.

_Look out for Sammy_.

Dean didn't tell Jessica, but taking care of Sam had been his responsibility since he was four years old, and he didn't intend to stop now. "Come on," he said, standing and shaking his thoughts into gear.

She looked at him quizzically. "Where are we going?"

"You said Sam went to the library," he replied, already heading towards the door. "Let's go see if we can retrace his steps."

She pushed up from the couch, not even arguing. It was like she understood that Sam trusted Dean, and so she should as well.

Dean pulled in a deep breath, feeling more terrified than ever. He hoped that perhaps he'd find something she'd missed; but at the same time there was the dread of what that might be.

And beneath that, there was the terrible possibility that he'd find nothing.

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**_tbc_**


	4. Chapter 4

_You guys are awesome. Thanks heaps :0)_

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**CHAPTER FOUR**

Shadows.

The same half-light.

Sam had been blinking through the never-changing gloom of the room he was being held in for what seemed like hours.

Or was it days?

He was aching all over. His mind skipped like scratched vinyl. Rational thoughts avoided him, and he kept drifting off to sleep. He had nightmares. They were the same nightmares he'd been having for the past few months, only amplified because he was anxious and hurting.

He dreamed of fire. Of home. Of monsters and demons.

Of Jess.

He was so thirsty his head hurt. His stomach was so empty that it ached. Mentally he batted at the residue left over from his most recent nightmare and re-oriented himself, casting his gaze about the room. He strained against his bonds, but they were still just as tight. Nothing stirred, except for the growing distress within him.

He was still alone. His father wasn't coming. He was going to be killed by a mad man.

Footsteps on the stairs sent his heart hammering and his mind reeling. He wanted to get out of here. He wanted to rewind time and erase this whole mess. He was borderline delirious and exhausted from desperation.

The man appeared. He stopped at the base of the stairs and regarded Sam.

Sam was torn between wanting to cower and wanting to put the man through a wall. He fumed at being restrained and beaten. He'd been taught to fight back, and fight hard.

The man approached. The shadows seemed to follow. He gripped a cell phone, his knuckles white. His shoulders were rigid.

Tremors shot through Sam. He didn't want to be hit again. It was agonising, and humiliating.

The man regarded him a moment longer, and then began to pace.

Sam followed him with his eyes.

"My son's name was Kyle." The man's voice was coarse, like gravel. Grief lined his tone. "He was a brilliant hunter, a good kid." His eyes shot back to Sam. "He fell from a bridge into a river and his body was never found."

Sam's teeth chattered. He tried desperately to get a hold of himself, but it was useless.

"_Your_ father was with us the night Kyle disappeared." The words were spoken with hatred, disgust. "_He_ was beside my son when the shape-shifter came at them on the bridge." He shook the cell phone at Sam. "John should have protected Kyle, but instead he let my boy fall."

Pacing.

Left. Right. Left.

"I'd gone to check the road we'd come down because we couldn't find the damn thing," he continued. "When I heard John's rifle go off I turned around and saw Kyle's body hit the water. The shape-shifter was still on the bridge. And _your father-_" His voice cracked. He stole a moment to compose himself.

His lip trembled violently and his eyes were fierce. "_Your father _simply told me that my son had slipped and fallen."

Sam rattled from the force of the words thrown at him. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure why the man was telling him all this. It wasn't his fault. _He wasn't his father._

The man continued pacing. Faster.

Right. Left. Right.

Stop.

"I searched for Kyle's body for a week." His voice was gravel again, grating. "It had been raining and the river was flowing hard. John helped me at first, but then I couldn't bare his help any longer. _He_ was the reason my son had disappeared. He'd failed my son, and he couldn't even tell me why!"

Sam flinched as the man came closer.

"How does it feel, to know that your daddy was responsible for killing an innocent boy?"

The question was overflowing with bitterness. Sam was astounded by how angry the man was, and how entirely he'd pinned the accident on John. Sam didn't know the details, but he was sure that his father hadn't intended for the boy to die. John might be a bastard; he wasn't a killer.

The man crouched before Sam and clipped him around the ears.

Sam tried not to cry out from the sting.

"Your daddy will be responsible for your death as well, the way things are going."

Sam caught his voice. "What are you trying to achieve?" He willed all his strength into speaking. "If you kill me, it'll be on your head. Is that what you want?"

The man's face contorted. His struck Sam; once, twice. Hard.

Sam couldn't hold back a cry this time. It spilled from his lips, along with new blood. The room lurched about him. The man said something, but Sam's mind missed it entirely.

Something about teaching John a lesson, something about getting John to tell the truth…

The world was thrown sideways. Sam's head cracked against the floor. The man had tipped the chair over.

Sam pulled his eyes open. When had he closed them? He smelled vomit. Had he been sick? All he could taste was bile and blood.

In the growing shadows, the man's boots retreated towards the stairs.

_The clock is ticking_.

Did the man say that, or was it in Sam's mind?

Why wasn't his father answering his phone?

Too many questions. Sam didn't want to play this game anymore. He was cold, and he wanted to go home.

There was a low rumble. The floor vibrated with a distant sound. Sam could hear bells. Or was it music?

Staying conscious was too hard. Thinking was too hard. Pain split across his forehead, and he was dragged into another nightmare.

Only this time he didn't dream of fire.

_He was on a hunt. Dean and John were with him. They were standing on a bridge, searching for a shape-shifter. Dean was beside him, clutching a shot gun. Sam held a curved knife. John was scouring the road._

_The wind was icy. The river raged below their feet. Sam looked over the edge, measuring the distance between them and the water. He backed up against the low rail._

"_Stay sharp, Sammy," Dean ordered._

_Sam watched his brother's back. Dean was always looking out for him. It wasn't fair that Dean always had to look out for him. Sam wasn't cut out for this life. They both knew it._

_Without warning, the shape-shifter came out of nowhere. Dean's shot gun went off and Sam staggered backwards. He lost his balance, tilting over the rail._

_Time slowed down. __His mind cleared._

_He could reach out and stop his fall, but… he didn't want to._

_Wouldn't it be better this way?_

_He let himself go, tumbling into blackness..._

Sam woke with a start. He coughed and gagged, choking against the pain in his skull. The room spun around him, sickening in its half-light.

He couldn't breathe properly because the ropes were cutting into his chest. His left shoulder ached, crushed under his weight as he lay on his side. Tears spilled from his eyes. His vision blurred.

For a moment, he thought he saw a young man standing beside him.

Surprise jolted through him, and he blinked harder.

But the room was empty.

Agonisingly, he was still very much alone.

* * *

**_tbc_**


	5. Chapter 5

_Hey guys, sorry this has taken a while to post. I had a bit of an accident and have been on my back for a week :/ But hopefully I can get writing again. Here's the next chapter anyways! Thanks again for reading :)_

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Dean was coming up against dead-end after dead-end. He and Jessica had been at the library for nearly an hour now, asking staff and students whether they remembered seeing Sam yesterday afternoon. He clutched the photo Jessica had given him, holding it up for a speckle-faced boy to blink at.

"I haven't seen him," the boy stated.

Dean's frustration boiled. "Look harder." He pushed the photo closer. "You said you were here yesterday. Sam was here yesterday. This _isn't_ a big library."

Irritation crossed the boy's face. "I _said_, I haven't seen him, I'm sorry. Now, if you don't mind-" He gestured to the papers and books sprawled on the table before him. "I have an extremely important assessment due tomorrow."

Dean blinked incredulously. His knuckles tingled. His brother was missing and all this kid cared about was some worthless assessment. He would have knocked the brat's head off, if Jessica hadn't placed a hand on his shoulder.

Her grip was firm, but warm. She was as anxious as he was, but seemed to draw strength from somewhere deep within her. "Dean," she said softly. She didn't need to say any more.

Dean pulled in a steadying breath and turned away from the kid. He loosened his grip on the photo, so that he didn't crush it, and followed her over to an empty study desk.

Once they were there she regarded him levelly. Her eyes were damp, but she didn't cry.

Dean fumbled for words. "There's got to be someone who saw him. I just need an idea of what time he left and which way he headed home. I can try to follow his steps and see if I can find any clues as to what might've taken him, where he-"

Jessica held up a hand and Dean bit off his sentence. "What do you mean, _what_ might have taken him?"

Dean's heart hammered. Had he said that? He back-tracked. Yes. "Uh-" He shook his head, rubbing his temples. "Sorry. God, I can't even think clearly right now."

Her expression softened. She shook her head as well. "It's okay. I know." She folded her arms over her stomach and hugged herself tightly, letting his comment slide.

Dean let go of the breath he'd been holding. He had to watch his words.

"You know," she said, holding him with her gaze. "It almost seems like you've done this before."

She was bright. Observant. No wonder Sam liked her.

Dean twitched a nervous smile. "Well, you know. I've done some tracking. Our dad's always been into hunting." _Monsters, demons, things most people refuse to believe in._

She accepted his explanation, seeming to latch onto another train of thought. "Have you told your father? I know he and Sam didn't have a very good relationship, but given the circumstances…"

Dean immediately regretted mentioning John. His anxiety ratcheted up a notch, and some of the blood must've drained from his face because Jessica caught his sudden shift in demeanour. He tore his gaze away from hers, casting it about the library as if looking for an escape route from their conversation.

"Dean?" She reclaimed his attention by filling her voice with concern.

He turned back to her, reluctantly. Who was he kidding? He couldn't keep John's disappearance a secret. She was going to find out eventually. She was his only help in finding Sam. If he was going to accept her help, then he had to trust her; at least with this. His voice took a long time coming up from the pit of his stomach. "Our dad…" he started.

She narrowed her eyes, possibly puzzled by his tone.

_Say it_. "Our dad-" he tried again. "Well, one of the reasons I was in the area was because I was coming to talk to Sam." He swallowed roughly. "Our dad's been missing for a few days now. He went out on a hunting trip, and didn't come home."

Jessica's expression shifted through many emotions as she processed what he was saying. Finally it settled on one. "Your father's missing too?" She wasn't angry, or upset; possibly somewhere in between. She was putting puzzle pieces together. "Why didn't you tell me? God, what if their disappearances are related?"

Dean held up a hand to slow her down. He couldn't let her come apart. Her strength was helping to keep him together right now. "I'm sorry." He grabbed her gaze, held it. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I should have told you earlier. I just… I'm not sure that they're related." _Not sure, or refuse to believe?_ "There are people looking for our father. I've reported it." _Lies._ "I just need to find Sam. When I find Sam and know he's safe, I'll worry about the rest. Please? Let's just focus on finding my brother."

His words, and the tone he used to form them, were unfamiliar to him. Dean Winchester didn't get scared. He was a soldier. A rock, like his father.

But Sammy was missing. There were no clues. The trail was cold.

Dean shot back to reality as Jessica grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Her touch was enough to dispel his fear, even if only momentarily.

She nodded, forgiving him in an instant. _She _was a rock, just like Sam and Dean's mother. "Okay," she said quietly. "Okay. Let's just concentrate on finding Sam."

Dean once again marvelled at her strength. When they found Sam, he'd tell his little brother how proud he was that he'd found someone so admirable. Sam deserved someone like her.

He pulled himself together. "Let's go outside," he decided. "Let's take a look around the building. Can you think which way he might have walked home? Let's try to retrace his steps. We might get lucky and find something." Although the rain had probably already washed away any footprints Sam may have left.

Her eyes travelled to the nearest window. Water droplets were running down the glass. Was she thinking the same thing?

Whatever her thoughts, she didn't voice them. She didn't argue against Dean's suggestion.

Dean followed her through the infuriatingly quiet library, out the main doors and down a flight of steps into the rain. He tucked the photo of him and Sam on the hood of the Impala into his pocket to keep it dry. The afternoon wasn't cold, but the rain felt icy against his skin. Clouds sagged.

Jessica veered to the left, along a path that led towards a parking lot. "Whenever we'd walk home together, we'd go this way."

Dean followed her steps, his gaze falling upon the path, the surrounding grass, the concrete, and finally the asphalt of the parking lot. It was going to be like finding a needle in a hay stack. _If_ there was anything to find.

Jessica watched him. Silent, trusting.

"Walk me the way you'd normally go," he said, sweeping his surroundings for anything unusual; anything dropped, anything out of place. If someone had jumped Sam, there may have been a scuffle. He let his eyes race across the parking lot, following Jessica, passing her- ending up focused on a group of tall trees. "Is that where we're headed?" he asked her, pointing. If _he_ was going to jump someone, it'd be in the shadows instead of out in the open. The parking lot was well-lit.

She followed his finger. "Yes."

Dean didn't waste time. He set off towards the trees at a jog. Once he got there, he examined the ground.

Jessica caught up. "What are we looking for?" she asked. "I can help." She was already mimicking his actions, scouring the damp earth.

There was mud. Grass. No clear path. It was a short-cut to the street beyond. There were footprints, heading in both directions, indicating it was well-used.

"Look for deep footprints," he explained, without looking up. "Look for any signs of a struggle. If Sam was taken here, it'll give us something to go by." _Look for footprints that stand out; strange shapes, strange sizes. Look up at the trees, for claw marks, broken branches._ He didn't explain to Jessica, but he wasn't necessarily looking for something human.

They searched. They scanned the entire patch of mud under the trees. Minutes passed by. The rain dripped from the leaves above, slowly soaking their clothes. Before long, they were shivering.

Jessica stopped first. She looked up at the sky through the branches, biting her lip.

Dean noticed, and stopped as well.

"It's hopeless," she whispered. "There's nothing here."

Seeing her begin to crumble was enough to shatter Dean. He reached for comforting words, but found nothing. His own optimism was wearing thin, but he refused to let it show. He couldn't afford to fall apart as well. But, without any clues as to where Sam had gone, or how he'd disappeared…

His cell phone rang, startling them both. With hands that refused to work properly, he wrestled it out of his jeans pocket.

_Sam_?

Jessica was by his side, obviously hoping the same thing. Not many people called this number, only his father and his brother.

_Dad_?

Dean's eyes fell upon the display. Disappointment filled him. Unknown number. He wanted to hurl the phone into the nearest tree trunk.

"Dean?" Jessica questioned anxiously.

Dean shook his head, sucking in a breath. Angrily he punched the button to take the call.

Silence.

"Hello?" Dean repeated. He wasn't in the mood for games. His arm was stiff, frozen. He was about to hang up when a gravely voice met his ears.

"Dean Winchester."

Dean's stomach dropped at the tone. He lowered his voice and turned away from Jessica. "Who is this?"

There was another short silence, and then, "It doesn't matter who I am. All I care about is speaking to John Winchester." The voice was tense, frustrated. The words were short, sharp. Angry. "I'm tired of calling him and getting his voicemail, I'm tired of listening to his message to call you. I want to speak with _him_."

Dean bristled with annoyance. Who did this jerk think he was? He'd heard his father's voicemail; John's flat voice directing people to call Dean instead. It was etched into Dean's memory. He'd heard it so many God-damned times over the past few days. He was annoyed with his father for it. Whatever this guy's problem was, Dean couldn't help him. "I'm sorry," he stated through gritted teeth. "I don't know where he is."

There was a noise from the other end, like the man had hit something out of anger. Possibly bashed his fist against a table. "That's not good enough," he hissed.

Dean fumed. _Not good enough_? He began to walk away from Jessica so he could raise his voice. "Listen," he shot back, "I don't know who you are, or what you want, but I don't have time for you right now, so I suggest you-"

"I suggest _you_ listen to me, boy."

Something about the man's words forced Dean to stop short. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.

"I have something of your's, so I'd advise you pay attention." Gravel. Ice. Malice.

Dean's mind reeled. What did the man just say?

"I have your brother."

Dean's stomach lurched. He suddenly felt sick. He forgot about hiding the conversation from Jessica and slammed his words down the line like knives. "You sick fuck, you put him on the line right now or-"

"Or _what_?" The man laughed cruelly. "I'm the one who gives orders here. You're the one who listens."

Dean couldn't catch his breath. "If you've hurt him, I swear-"

"You have until midnight. If I don't speak with John before then, Sam dies."

Dean was standing in the rain. He'd walked out from under the trees. Water was running down his face, into his eyes. Jessica was calling to him, but he barely heard her. "I told you," he repeated irritably. "I don't know where he is. Let me speak to my brother." He needed to know Sam was alive. This freak could be bluffing. Sam could be dead already.

"No."

Dean exploded. "You expect me to take you seriously?" His words came out more desperate than he'd intended. "Prove to me that you haven't hurt my brother and maybe I'll help you!"

There was shuffling. Silence. More shuffling.

"Dean…?"

The voice was strained, tired, hurting. But unmistakably Sam.

"_Sam_!"

Before Dean had even had a chance to speak with his brother, the man with the gravely voice returned to the line. "Satisfied? Now find your father."

Dean felt the ground shift beneath him. The man wasn't bluffing. He managed to steady himself, swallowing bile. "I told you, I-"

"_Find_ him," the man barked. "Tell him Frank wants to speak with him, before midnight. Or Sam dies."

Dean was on the verge of hyperventilating. He couldn't get enough air. _Stay composed. Don't show fear_. _Do _not_ show fear_.

"If Sam dies, I'll hunt you down, you crazy bastard, I'll rip you-"

The line went dead.

Dean's shoulders were aching. His chest heaved. He stared at his phone. The rain fell upon the screen.

The man had hung up. The man had Sam. Sam was hurt. John was missing.

Dean was alone.

Jessica was beside him. Her face was panicked. She had been speaking to him this whole time but he'd been ignoring her. She was speaking to him now, desperately, but he was still ignoring her.

He spun around. He headed back into the trees. He walked left, right, backwards. He spun and punched a tree, drawing blood from his knuckles. He sank into the mud, vision swimming, mind red from anger.

"Dean?" Jessica was leaning over him. "Dean, talk to me. Please."

Dean caught her gaze, held it. Steadied himself. What was he supposed to tell her? "Someone has taken Sam," he said. His voice was wooden. Hollow. "They want to speak with our dad before midnight. Or Sam dies." It was the truth. Perhaps it would have been better to lie, but he didn't have the energy.

Jessica went pale. Her eyes widened in horror. A hand fluttered to her mouth. She didn't speak.

Dean cursed again. He planted his fist into the ground. Blood mixed with mud. He could try calling his father again, on the off-chance that John would pick up, but he already knew what the result would be.

John wouldn't answer.

He stared at his cell. He needed to know who Frank was. He needed to know where Frank might have taken Sam, and he needed to know before midnight.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Jessica whispered, distressed.

Dean battled with his cell phone. His fingers were stiff, not working. He struggled with his words. "I have someone I need to call." He scrolled through his address book, searching for the number. It had been years, but he hoped that their old family friend would answer.

"Can they help us?" Jessica asked.

Dean didn't know. But he hoped so. He found the number he was looking for, and pressed dial.

It rang. Once. Twice.

After the third ring, someone answered. "Hello?"

Dean took a deep breath, latching on to the old, familiar voice like it was a lifeline.

"Bobby?" he said, his voice unsteady. "It- it's Dean Winchester. Something's happened. I- I could really use your help."

* * *

**_tbc_**


End file.
